water

"I can't believe we're doing this," you say as you watch me uncoiling the garden hose and screwing it onto the spigot. We're both a few beers in, standing in the yard on a warm fall day in swim trunks, and we're about to make some questionable decisions.

"Come on, you keep saying you've always wanted to try it! I promise, it'll be great. It's like a tire pump, but way better," as I lube up the end of the hose and drag it over to you. "Pull down the back of your shorts a little."

You comply, edging down the back of your trunks and bending forward a little.

It was closing time at the Urbanville Aquatic Center. The swimmers were gone, the locker rooms empty, the last stragglers finally herded out. Claire milled about the entrance with the other lifeguards, chatting idly about how nice if felt to rise the chlorine from her hair and slip back into dry clothes, laughing and commiserating with each other over the day’s work, talking eagerly about their plans for the evening.